So, it all started when Mom told me that Dad didn't want her to come up and drive him home, he wanted to drive home on his own. This might not seem like such a big deal to everyone else, but it's a big-damn-deal to me. Why? Because I have issues. And, because the rest of my life is pretty damned good; so there's got to be SOMETHING I bitch about, right? *smirks*

Anyway, first issue: Why is it a big deal that Dad wants to drive himself home?

Because, Dad's been seriously ill these past few years. Of the past, I'd say, four years, he's spent the better part of two and a half in the hospital. He has had/does have kidney failure, heart failure, severe diabetes, an amputation, multiple infections, C-dif, MERSA, uncontrollable diahrea, skin sores, neuropathy in hands, feet, legs and arms, liver disease and... and some other things I'm sure I've forgotten.

Oh yes, and temporary blindness.

Oh, and he's had a hole in his leg that has refused to heal for the past year, no lie, no exageration. He just had a skin graft to cover it last week.

Anyway, We, Mom and me, Live here at the Ocean, Southwestern-most point of Washington state. Dad has been up in the Seattle area since about a week or so after Turkeyday (American Thanksgiving holiday). He stays with The Young Prince while he's up there. And, he's up there because there are better doctors and such.

(Really, he stays up there becuase his son, The Young Prince, actually babys him, whereas Mom and I don't.)

Okay, so Dad's been on this "I'm going to die." thing for about four years. He's stubborn enough to refuse to stop driving his car; even though he's been pulled over (and arrested for Drunk Driving) due to his inability to see clearly (stay in the lane).

This is also the man who shakes and stumbles and weaves when he walks because he can't feel anything from the knees down (the neuropathy - numbness/absense of tactile sensation). This is the man who, when Mom, Dad, The Young Prince and me were at Karaoke, Dad stood up and got beligerant with a drunk dude on the stage, even though Dad couldn't walk straight and was using a chair to balance himself. The bouncers even had to come and ask Dad to calm down. *rolls her eyes*

I guess it's true that your parents' responsibility is to embarrass you!

--- If you couldn't tell, This is textual processing about all the sins of the father. ---

So... let's see... *rereads to figure out where she is*

Oh yes, I remember now.

It is my opinion that Dad shouldn't be driving at all. Not to the post office, not to the end of the street, but especially not the four and a half hours from North Everette to Long Beach!

BUT, he wants to drive home. It doesn't matter that he got out of the emergency room last night after another bout of infection in his toes.

Grrrr.

So, Issue Two: Why am I upset that Dad's coming home at all?

Because, there's a part of me that wishes he would just hurry up and die already.

Now, before I get a whole bunch of angry "how dare you say such a cruel thing about your own father" comments, let me clarify.

The remaining issues that will be discussed in this entry are in regard to why I'm so antagonistic toward the paternal parental unit. To sum up: Because of many, many hurts in youth, I have chosen to deny pain and discomfort with apathy.

Because of my apathy toward the paternal parental unit's suffering, I feel as if I've already processed his death, and this hanging on and whining and bi-polar bullshit just irks me now.

Try this analogy.

You're sitting comfortably in your room when someone walks by and stubs their toe on the table. The first time, you're concerned. Oh, are you okay? Does it hurt? Do you need to sit down? Hell, the first three or four or five times you can be sympathetic. But, when this person stubs their toe the 60th, 70th, 1140th time, you start to wonder if they're doing it on purpose. After all, the desk hasn't moved. They're the one who is moving. Thus, isn't there some point when they take responsibility for the pain they're causing themselves?

Not only that, but after the eleventy-millionth time that they've stubbed their toe, they get all wounded and hurt and pittiful when you DON'T react with sympathy. And then they look at you as if you somehow caused them to be in pain and after all aren't they wonderful and perfect and all that bullshit?

So, I've long since had enough of the stubbing of the toe thing. Come on, you're effing 67 years old. Either suck it up and get over it, or choose a different path!

I'm all out of sympathy for the paternal parental unit. I've been concerned enough. Just get it over with already. Knock off this bid for sympathy and grow up!!!

*sighs*

So, I'm torqued off that he's planning to drive down here on his own because he's not safe. But, I'm torqued off because he's planning on coming down here at all. This house is peaceful and calm and happy when he's not here. When he's here, well, it's not.

All right, so, Issue Three etc: Why am I angry with the paternal parental unit to begin with?

Because he was a bastard to me when I was a kid.

I'll post more about this later, but I've just had too much right now. I need to sleep so that I can get in a more cheerful frame of mind.

I promise.